Standing bare and black, naked branches lack
their summer finery in all its glory.
Stunted trunks like flesh-stripped bones
tell their death story,
creaking and snapping as the
the thin wind groans.
But beneath the moss and deep in earth
roots stretch down and leach in all they need
for the sap to rise and feed lifeless limbs.
Green blood will flow from death’s cradle
and each new bud will bid us hope
for precious spring.
